


Beyond the Archetype

by Eureka234



Series: I Couldn't Tell if You Were Blessed or Cursed [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Challenge Response, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fun, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Metafiction, POV Alternating, Parody, Quote: It's Smutty Literature, Sex Talk, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and Dorian try to outdo each other by writing terrible smutty stories. Inquisitor Trevelyan is appointed judge of which one is better. Very NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Archetype

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SO SORRY.  
> This was in response to the "Bad Smut Bonanza" on Tumblr. I know it's kind of crazy... please try enjoy?  
> I very quickly proof read this so if there are any errors I'll fix them later. Hehehe

Varric was sitting in his usual place in the hall, trying to draft the next part of Swords and Shields. Cassandra may be eager to read it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to publish it without serious rewrites. Still, it was the time of afternoon where his concentration lapsed, and Dorian had showed up at just the right time.

“Hello there, Varric,” he said jovially, slowing as he approached the table, “What are you working on? Ohh, it is one of your books, is it? Good luck. I wouldn’t be able to write even if someone dragged the words out of my head.”

“I’m sure you could.” Varric tried to smile, but he recalled what Dorian _really_ thought of his smutty book. “I heard from Cassandra that you were not a fan of my stories, Sparkler.”

The Tevinter’s demeanour suddenly changed. No longer was it happy and welcoming, but slightly irritated. He sat down opposite Varric before continuing, passing others on the table disparaging looks.

“Not your stories. _A_ story.” He leaned forward so he didn’t have to speak so loudly, “The one with too much pink and luster on the cover, the one that you should have published under a pseudonym.” Dorian explained, “It was beyond stupid. I have never read a love story so contrived and unrealistic. The main female character was so irritating I wanted to buy her a new wardrobe, hit her over the head with an encyclopaedia and then push the wardrobe on top of her. Yes, so she dies. I’m not sure if I should even apologize, but if you want to hate me for my opinions here is a magnificent opportunity. However, I doubt you can refute my criticism with a decently organized argument.”

“I know what the critics said.” Varric said, not even flinching at the rant, “another person complaining in the Inquisition isn’t new. It’s easily the worst I’ve ever written. Everyone knows that.”

The mage laughed, but it was short lived. His bronze skin gleamed warmly by the torches of Skyhold’s hall, but it wasn’t as comforting as Varric expected.

“It was the worst I’ve ever _read_ , Varric,” Dorian said simply. “and in case it isn’t by some means obvious I have read plenty of books. Shelves, if I dare to wager.”

“I’ve lodged your point in the back of my brain.” Varric said. He paused. Compared to critics he could receive more in depth feedback from Dorian, as a discussion could ensue rather than a one sided tirade, “but the real question is… Sparkler, have you read any romance stories that make your heart swell?”

“Not in Tevinter.” Dorian said suddenly, “and I haven’t done enough searching for them here to tell the truth. I’ve honestly been hoping to discover more progressive values in my erotic tales, Varric.” He waved an arm, impatient, “It is always boy meets girl or girl meets boy, or older man meets younger woman… or whore meets older man… what about all the others in the world, I tell you? What about the young man who falls in love with his superior? Yes, _men_ , Varric.” His tone became mocking, but it seemed more for Thedas in general and not the dwarf, “What a marvellous, new concept. A charming and fantastic human couple, both with a naughty snake in his trousers… I have to admit your story was interesting besides the love story aspect. Be proud.”

“Since it _was_ a romance you’re not doing encouragement very well, but I have to give you credit for making your shitting all over it somewhat constructive.” Varric said. He thought of a brilliant idea – typical when he didn’t actually need them, “Though how about I try writing something terrible and you can decide again if my book has any point whatsoever?”

“I shudder to think of what that would look like.” Dorian said, blank in posture and expression.

“How about…” Varric contemplated, “I’ll make it very terrible, but the lovers can be men to make you really conflicted about yourself?”

Dorian seemed to hesitate. “That’s a bit overkill, isn’t it?” his eyes gleamed, thinking of his own idea, “Fine. I’ll prove I can write something better than you with a man and a woman, and just so you know I don’t write at all.”

“Have you even been with a lady, Sparkler?” Varric tested. He was curious of how well Dorian thought this challenge would go.  

“I doubt you have. In fact I’m fairly convinced you haven’t, and that didn’t stop you from bringing that atrocity into the literary world.” Dorian said, with an uppity nod, “You haven’t been with a man either so I consider us on equal footing.

Varric laughed, and twirled the metal pen between his fingers, “How about three days to finish it? You can get help from people if you want, Sparkler, I’ll let you have a head start.”

“You assume I need it.” Dorian said with a grin. He stepped out from the bench, “I look forward to having the last of my brain melted by your muddling of words. How … or who… will make the definite decision of which one of our brilliant epics is the superior?”

Varric gave a coy smile. “I was going to say Cassandra, but she’d probably try to murder me again. How about our lovely Inquisitor?”

“I will make sure to target my talents to her, then.” Dorian said simply.

“I doubt she cares.” Varric assured. “Let’s get to work. Make it no more than five pages.”

* * *

 “Excuse me, Sera.” Dorian said, speaking loudly to be overheard over the bustle of the tavern. Herald’s rest was usually busy and noisy, but it was extra difficult to catch the Fereldan rogue’s attention. She was tapping her glass with a fork to the tune of the music, humming loudly as she went. No one else was at that table.

The elf screwed up her face. “What?”

Her tone rang of disapproval of not wanting to be approached. Dorian held out a sheet of paper.

“I was wondering if you might be able to provide me feedback on this, most notably, on the ever elusive mystery of a woman’s anatomy.”

Sera snorted, putting her fork down. “Anatomy what? You drawing or something?”

Filled with glee and intrigue she grasped it. Dorian sat next to her. Somewhere between the first line and third paragraph her face fell. “It’s just writing. Stupid!”

“I apologize. I didn’t realize you forgot how to read.” Dorian noted cooly.

The elf did not approve of this answer.

“Go put your balls somewhere to be cut up.” Sera said dismissively. “Fine let me read this rubbish in full. I wonder if it’s any good.”

She was quiet then. There was no chiming of her glass or humming sounds. Dorian casually observed those around him as the elf held her knees to her chest and read the page with it a few inches away from her face. The music was a song about battles and glory, not his cup of tea, but pleasant all the same.

She smirked at the final page and put it down. “It’s pretty boring, but you can make it better.”

“I’m not sure I want your definition of better.” Dorian said.

“Everyone does except you, because I’m different. I’m a bloody expert on this shite.” Sera retorted back, although she wasn’t quite angry, “Make it messier. Really, really messy.’ Her eyes lit up in envy. “Like this stuff… you can, I dunno. You like guys’ things. I don’t get it but whatever. Make it all over the place like that.”

Dorian took a moment to realize ‘make it all over the place’ was referring to ejaculate.

“I find it hard to believe women can expel as much fluid as a man can in their nether regions.” Dorian said, taking Sera’s glass and pushing it out of her arms reach.

“It’s because you’re doing it wrong, you idiot.” Sera said. “It gets messier the better it is. Logical, innit? Pretty smart. The gooey stuff right? Do something fun like make the main sod paint pictures on her with it or something.”

“Yes, you would do that I expect?” Dorian said. He didn’t know if he was more surprised or disgusted. “Perhaps this is not obvious, Sera, but I am trying to show Varric I can write better than him.”

“That’s what I mean.” Sera said, “he writes it all serious. You gotta make it fun, yeah? Just write whatever. And when it comes to the feelings and stuff it doesn’t matter that much. Like not in the moment you know what I’m getting at? It still happens, just not in that part of the story. Maybe it happens after sleeping.”

Dorian considered her feedback. He had expected immaturity, but he had hoped that there would be a nugget of wisdom somewhere underneath it, and maybe this was the best it was going to get, “I see what you’re getting at…” he ventured, “though to me fun might include some consensual violence and gagging.”  

“URg!” Sera gave Dorian a disgusted face. “You’re one of those creepy types that are all on high horses and into floggings n’ all that craziness.”

“Yes, I suppose if you’re going to shoehorn me into a box.” Dorian agreed with her, “and you’re one of those unladylike monstrosities that say ‘to the Maker with hygiene’ and ‘welcome’ to a wide array of diseases.”

Sera cackled. “Diseases aren’t that bad. Not like it will kill you or anything if you’re clever. Only gotta know which herbs to take and how to clean yourself proper. But you do gross things with guys asses too right, so you’d know about being clean.”

Dorian tried not to laugh at how quickly the conversation had turned crude. He also tried not to make it look like they were speaking about something inappropriate. “How about you help me with women’s completely illogical bodies and I will consider some of the other suggestions you’ve made.”

“Alright!” Sera said happily.

* * *

 “Curly.” Varric said. He knocked on the office door even though it was already ajar and entered. It was eerily quiet in here compared to the rest of Skyhold, which was why the dwarf avoided offices. He thought better surrounded by chaos and chatter. This order and silence was unnatural.  

The Commander didn’t raise his gaze from the desk, “Yes, Varric?”

He sounded exasperated and annoyed.

“I had a personal question to ask you for a project of mine.” Varric said slowly, “but I understand you have your pride to uphold. If you want to say no, just admit it, I won’t judge either way.”

That got Cullen’s attention. His eyes darted to Varric like a vulture. There was a moment’s hesitation before he asked, “And what project is that?”

“To suggest to Sparkler he doesn’t know half decent writing when he sees it.” Varric said, “Don’t get me wrong. I know some of my work is easily overtaken by authors that specialize in the genre, but I also don’t think it’s worthy of burning.”  

Cullen scowled, suspecting something. “And you could not simply explain that? Isn’t that easier?”

“I tried, but I figured the results of this idea would stick for longer.” Varric explained, right opposite the desk now, “If you want to share some personal details, that is. I get with my habits of over exaggerating you might not want to, but I’ll manage integrity for you, Curly. I only have to break his ego just enough so he’ll be put off insulting my writing for the rest of his life.”

The dwarf laughed at his own daring. Cullen, still suspicious was intrigued. Perhaps he was wondering if a feat such as this was even possible.

“Fine, Varric.” He lessened the hardness in his voice. “What is your question?”

Varric took a few steps around to observe the desk in closer detail, “Well, I guess I’m curious if you’ve ever been with a man in the romantic sense of the word. A tad unorthodox, I know.”

There was nothing but silence. The dwarf paced a few more steps before facing Cullen. He wasn’t pleased, but the emotion was closer to anxiety.

“What does that have to do with _anything_?” Cullen demanded, outraged.

“You wouldn’t like it if I told you.” Varric said, but decided to tell the Commander anyway, “I’m writing a love scene with two men and I won’t lie. I don’t have much idea of how to write it. So I’ve been asking around many people for advice. Sadly I haven’t had many who want to talk about it, as you can imagine. I’m getting a bit desperate.”

Cullen looked flabbergasted, but he dropped his quill and opened his palms to the Heavens, “Can’t you guess? Or imagine it? That’s the whole point of writing, isn’t it?” he pushed his report away, “or ask Dorian for Maker’s sake.”

“I can’t ask him.’ Varric said, “since the whole point of this is to make him rethink his choices – eerr… not _those_ kinds of choices, though.” He added hastily.

Cullen let out an audible sigh. He peered at the bookshelf thoughtfully. “I… have not ever been with a man. I used to have a friend who liked to joke they would _manhandle me,_ but he never did thank the Maker, and that is hardly the same.” he pondered for longer, “But I can tell you from what I have experimented with in the Pearl and the Rose with _women_ is that, uh… both holes feel…” he blushed, “almost exactly the same. I do not know if that is the sort of information you are looking for but that is all I am disclosing. Maker preserve me… do keep it to yourself.”

Varric chuckled appreciatively. “That’s something. Nice work, Curly. I’m surprised you shared that precious personal detail. You’re a step above everybody else.”                                                                                                                            

“I hardly see how this is relevant.” Cullen repeated again, slightly irritated. Judging from his crossed arms, he’d gotten defensive and was ready for Varric to leave.  

He went silent.

“Any more pearls of wisdom you would like to share?” Varric inquired. “Maybe a pet peeve Dorian has that I can include?”

“Well…” Cullen considered this, “He does make comments about how I do my hair and makes suggestions for how I can improve my dress sense. I don’t personally think I need to improve it.”

“You’re one of the better looking Commanders of any Inquisition history can claim for.” Varric said with a grin.

“Uh, thank you, even though none of us were alive in the last Inquisition,” Cullen said briskly, “anyhow that is enough from me. Tell no one what I told you, especially not Evelyn. I do not know enough about her… I don’t want her to think I’m repulsive.”

“She won’t hear a word.” Varric said, thinking, _but she is going to read the end product._

* * *

 Evelyn received two pieces of erotic fiction from Varric Tethras and Dorian Pavus in the afternoon before departing to the Storm Coast to investigate a Red Lyrium hideout. Their competition was stupid, as most men inspired ideas were, though she agreed to play along. If she was going to lie about which one was better, it would be impossible to take sides. She loved Varric and Dorian too much.

She was curious, though agreed with Varric and Dorian that it was a very important assignment. Besides, it was a good excuse to get away from writing that report about incidences in the Hinterlands that was due a week ago.

She lay on her bed to get away from passers-by and unraveled the first sheet of paper.

 _This one is Dorian’s,_ Evelyn affirmed, comparing the two writing styles together. _Let’s see how he manages a heterosexual pairing. I wonder if I will need to explain anything to him afterwards…even if it doesn’t matter at all because he doesn’t like women anyway._

The Inquisitor focused on the first line to pull herself away from mental chatter.

* * *

 

 _Playing for Promises_ by yours truly and wonderful, Dorian Pavus

Stacy Crimson always got who she wanted, but not as immediately as she liked. Her friends often thought her an idiot but her life motto was that there was no fun in thinking too much on how to make the smart decision. There were moments when there would _be_ no moment if one stood there thinking.

It was far more common for her to experience seduction opportunities, like when she saw a yummy man and thought about how to get him inside her. Those were the only circumstances where thinking was necessary. There was only the briefest foresight on how to make the plan, and then it simply began like a music recital. She really adored playing music.

She pranced around her table of interest. They were in a tavern, so what? People were staring at her, so what? The _man_ was looking at her, the very tasty one. His gaze was like so intense it was like getting beaten over the head with an expensive satchel. It made her really hate leather.

“Why are you still wearing clothes, mister?” she fawned, curling her fingers over his shoulders.

It turned out this stranger was very unimportant but he liked to act like he was. He grabbed her arm and yanked her face onto the table. Not having expected this and very clumsy, it made her get a blood nose… rather suitable considering her name, don’t you think?

“I shall only take them off if you are devoted to me, Miss Crimson Blade!”

Her reputation was as inescapable as she was.

The woman wiggled her ass at him, her head still pressed against the table. She couldn’t quite flash her undies but she tried. The skirt was that tiny bit too long.

“Yeah, I’d do that. I’m so good at the worshipping stuff.”

In acceptance of this idiotic girl, the man removed his hand.

She raised her head, stared at him and licked the blood from her lips. “Let me show you.”

The others around the table jeered. They were drunk and barely comprehensible. Most of them would probably be dead in a few hours from alcohol poisoning.

“Fine. There is nothing better to do anyway.” said the man with a toss of his ponytail. He lead them to outside the tavern… into the dreaded cold of night.

~~Friggin freezing!~~

He was so tall he could have been a tree. The woman found this all the more exciting. Maybe he wouldn’t smell like beer, but of leaves and flowers. Even the worst flowers in Tevinter smelled better than the alcohol. He dressed very nicely too, better than any of the other morons in the tavern.

While he half stumbled, Stacy wondered if he put up his hair like that to be a pony. Maybe pretending he was one would be fun. Forever the optimist, she stared at his majestic frame and got wet only staring at him. She’d wondered if she was ill for her high libido but had never sought medical attention, because she found her sickness had benefits.

“What’s your name, anyhoo mister?” she inquired, still making an effort to make her skirt sway provocatively, despite the fact he was in front of her and not paying any attention.

“I am Lysandros.” He said dully, “a Magister, though not entirely well known. You belong in some fairy tale snowstorm, I presume?”

Foreign fools like Stacy thought his name was exotic, but it was actually only a representation of how swallowed up in history Tevinter was.

“Only if I get to be a fairy.” Stacy said, grinning wide. “An ice castle would be nice too. Do they exist anywhere?”

“If they do, I hope they melt.”

 _So much for conversation!_ The woman thought. She may only be of her 19th year, but she had more experience with men than all of her friends put together. One time, she’d actually had all of her friends naked in one room. Despite how it sounds, it was a complete disaster.

‘Go work in a whorehouse’ they said. And she wittingly replied that the whorehouse wouldn’t accept her, for her pussy was so loose. Somehow though, men were always happy to have it. They liked to have their turns making it stretch beyond recognition.

Stacy Crimson liked killing people better anyway.  

The man kept walking. The woman followed this stranger until they were in an alleyway. It was more filthy, desolate and unclean than any other alleyway she’d visited, which was saying a great deal in Minrathous.

 _Maybe,_ Stacy thought, _getting this serious idiot to get his seed into me didn’t require any elaborate thinking._

She thought longingly that if only every encounter was so seamless, there’d be no need for her to think about anything useful ever again. The brain was so disposable and impractical after all.

Then they stopped moving. The man’s stare tore through her like his seed was going to at the end of this tale.

“So you’re into worshipping and that crap, right?” Stacy said, placing her hands on her hips.

“Devotion and worship are different, Crimson Blade.” Lysandros said. His beard was so dark it made half his face look like a shadow. Oooh, mystery! “If I have my way with you, I’d assume you are dedicating yourself to my legion of slaves.”

“Slaves?” Stacy screwed up her face. She thought, _stuff slavery. Society is enough punishment for me._

“They sleep in my basement.” Lysandros said. “We have lots of blankets. Don’t worry, it is very comfortable.”

Stacy ignored him. No basement was ever comfortable, even if it was disguised as a bedroom. Basements were ugly things that had no place in any house.

She knew how to mess with this moron.

“What if I promise to be your slave?” she tested, unbuttoning her shirt.

The man unbuckled his belt. “Do you keep your promises?”

 _Nope, you’re going to die after this, loser!_ Stacy thought, while she gave a feral grin, “Always.”

They didn’t kiss. He was too tall and she couldn’t tell where his beard ended and his lips began. She reached up on her toes to reach his beard and find out when Lysandros slapped her tits. Was it supposed to be teasing for a beating? It remains a mystery. 

“HAHAHAHA!” Stacy cackled. It hurt, but oh well. She was going to kill him after this anyway. She could take it.

The woman pulled off her shirt and held it out in front of her like a rope. She knew how these Tevinter types worked. “Please tie up my naughty hands. They kill people so much. I don’t want to kill you….” She paused, to try think of how to best finish her ramble, “glorious Magister?”

Lysandros grabbed her shirt, wiped her face from blood and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. “I am not cruel to my promised slaves. However, I preferred if you tried to keep quiet.”

“Oh yeah.” Stacy said. “Sorry, almighty master.”

The man pulled down his trousers and underclothes, revealing his already hard cock. He lifted Stacy up by her waist so her skirt could brush up against it.

“It’s so hot… I think I like it better than the cold.” Stacy said. She whispered under her breath, “Warm me up before I get hypothermia, master. I have such bad circulation. You’re the only one that can save me.”

She saw the man smile, knowing she was full of it… though not literally…not yet.

“Maybe I’m only here to tease you.” Lysandros said. “If you’re my slave, I can take you to bed anytime I like… and maybe… maybe you shouldn’t have come out here with a strange man you don’t know.”

Before he could pick out the blade hidden near her skirt, Stacy threw it to the ground. She put on her most babyish, best pouting voice, “I wouldn’t ever hurt you, glorious Lysandros. I need your heat inside so I don’t drop dead. It’s so cold and I’m so lonely.”

That was when Lysandros covered Stacy’s mouth. “Maker, you’re so annoying.”

“I know.” She said, the words losing comprehension when they hit his palm, growing wet with her breath.

She ripped off the shirt from around her neck and threw it onto the ground.

Stacy always thought using magic during sex was cheating… until it made her feel amazing and then she was angry she didn’t have magic. He pulled off her clothes without his hands and sent electricity from where his palms met her shoulders. She was lodged between the man’s legs against the wall, and she was light enough to not be knocked to the ground by accident.

She moaned loudly when he entered her, though it was greatly muffled by the hand still covering her mouth. If it wasn’t for him her wetness might have all dried up from the discomfort of the icy chill.

It was good that cocks had ample blood supply.

The woman bucked his hips against him, as well as she could, which translated to tilting them and twitching.

The man’s noises were off putting, so she tried to drown them out by being louder.

“Faster!” she cried, and it was obviously audible through the man’s palm. He removed it and pushed her harder into the cold granite bricks of the alleyway. Her spine dug into it. Maker, it hurt, but she could manage.

He moved quicker as she’d asked.

She felt her walls become so drenched and swollen that it was starting to make her numb, but somehow still overwhelmed with sensation.

 _Sex is friggin weird as,_ Stacy thought, _especially with this guy!_  

~~(sex is bizarre with attractive men?)~~

She wanted to her best friend to be here instead, her first official girlfriend who had left her for being too promiscuous. Fair enough, she’s said at the time. But it didn’t stop her crying her heart out once the conversation was over and wishing she was stronger.

 _Self-control is for boring people,_ she’d sworn.

As she threw her head back and groaned she wondered how smarter folk learned this self-control thing. It would be useful. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be a lonely person. Perhaps she could go back to the days when her lover would give her so many kisses she had more saliva than sweat on her.

Stacy wanted to be strong. She wanted to learn how to control her impulse to be impulsive.

His cock hit a good spot and she gasped. She needed this release so much…  

When Lysandros was done and she still needed more, she felt irrevocably disappointed when he placed her back on her feet.

 _I can kill him_ ; she reminded herself, his seed dripping down her legs. _He would deserve it._

She peered at the blade next to her feet and wondered what excuse she could make to get it.

Lysandros passed her the skirt once his clothes were back on. She dressed, slowly. They both did in silence.

“How about you come with me?” he asked her. The voice was not threatening anymore. He was too content to sound angry or hateful.

Stacy knew she could kill him. She understood that walking to the man’s basement was a terrible idea.

But she wouldn’t be the only one there. There were other people, maybe they could be friends.

She hadn’t made good choices in her life so far. Maybe she was doing the life thing wrong.

“Will you be nice to me?” she wondered. Her voice shook with vulnerability, despite how her tits were turning frosty in the open air.  _Can you teach me to have self-control?_

The young woman couldn’t ask that question, but her eyes did. She wasn’t sure if Lysandros heard her when he handed her the shirt.

“I am nice to all my slaves.” He said. It was said calmly. It might still be a lie, but Stacy decided she wouldn’t care even if he had.

The man walked off. He didn’t force her to go. Stacy watched, confused until he was almost gone. She took a final look at the dagger.

And decided to make a different choice…

Stacy left the blade where it was. She followed this stranger back to the tavern where he prepared to leave to his manor. Lysandros appeared bewildered when she was still there following him.

He looked apathetic when she said:

“I think I want to keep my promise this time.”

* * *

 “ _What_?!” Evelyn demanded, folding the note with as much disdain as a used tissue. “What did I just read?”

It was… ridiculous. It was a parody, wasn’t it? She had laughed a few times, but she wasn’t sure at whose expense. Dorian couldn’t have written all this. The… main character sounded like Sera. Was it just a coincidence? Was he outpouring his hatred onto the elf?

 _Entertaining, but with a little more to be desired_ , the Inquisitor decided finally. She put the paper down and hesitated. Was Varric’s story going to be even worse than that?

Maybe she couldn’t do this.

 _It’s just a story,_ Evelyn reminded herself. She took a deep breath and prayed. _Maker, please let this be better!_

_Release to the Maker by Varric Tethras (sorry in advanced, Inquisitor!)_

_Fantastic!_ Trevelyan swore sarcastically to herself. She shut her eyes hard before beginning her torture.

* * *

 Ser Damien Panas was tired. He was sick of everybody making fun of him because he was one of the worst human beings to grace Thedas. It wasn’t because he was an asshole. There were already plenty of terrible people to fit that role. No. Damien constantly berated himself for what he was about to do today.

“Shut up. Don’t be such a scared fool.” He said, marching down the corridor. The walls were granite. They were anything but comforting in a day that was already lackluster.

The Gallows was rarely a comforting place. Lyrium burned his hollow heart.

He ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to seem more confident, but it was a perfectly placed lie.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He wasn’t supposed to… if anyone found out… no, it would be fine.

The Templar halted in front of a door. It was to _his_ quarters, but that wasn’t the bothersome detail. His roommate was the one who had plagued his mind all morning, and now there was an opportunity to express his thoughts… for real.

He took out his key and opened the door.

As suspected, Ser Kallen Ransford was sitting at the desk, reading a book about flowers. Despite his stolid demeanour, the man was unexpectedly feminine. His love for gardening was a well-kept secret. It had been since the beginning.

“Good afternoon.” Kallen said, not looking over at him. “How was your day?”

 _Terrible, because I was thinking about you the entire time,_ Damien deliberated. He decided to go the more subtle route.

“Terrible.” He replied, “I had a lot of my mind. It was very distracting.”

“Really?” as innocent as ever, Kallen abandoned his book, “You sound like you’ve got a cold. Are you sure you don’t need to lie down?”

Damien paused. He was only sick in the same way a chronically stressed person was, usually on the very edge of getting a cold. While an ailment was not the truth of the situation it seemed like a good opportunity to get his roommate’s attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He said, pacing toward his bed, “I’d love to lie down.”

So the man took off his boots one by one, the noise inevitably distracting Kallen from his study. The blond turned his chair around. “What’s been on your mind?”

Damien tensed as he removed his chest plate. “I was… debating with myself… about what you might say if I told you I had more than friendly feelings for you.”

Perhaps he was ill, or he’d gone over what to say too many times and it had finally morphed into a habit.

Kallen gave an embarrassed chuckle, “You… don’t, do you?”

Damien wanted to say no, he was just joking, but he couldn’t keep torturing himself anymore. If the Maker was going to dub him the worst person in the universe officially, he’d rather it was done in his youth where he had time to repent for his sins. “I… I’m sorry that I do.” Then he blurted out, “I know it’s wrong. I get it. I’ll go to the Knight Commander and request a room transfer tomorrow. It would be ideal if I could get a room with a girl. I mean, I don’t like girls at all.”

It was so awkward he couldn’t even laugh about it anymore. Instead an odd rumble came from between his teeth.

Kallen went red. “Oh…” then he continued to talk, “That… won’t be necessary. I had suspicions for a while now. I didn’t want to say anything in case I was imagining it. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Bewildered by the serious turn in conversation, Damien didn’t keep his eyes off the man. “I… I suppose we both better head down to the Chantry and pray together?”

Damien’s mind couldn’t register what was just said to him. “What? I was more than ready to hear, ‘get out of my life you disgusting man lover’?”

“I understand that. I don’t blame you at all.” Kallen said.

There was a torturous pause where only ambiguity lived.

“If I prayed for a miracle, would you be more specific?” Damien wondered, taking off gauntlets next.

His roommate took a steady breath and gazed at him, upset. “I have undeniable feelings for you too, as…. Embarrassing as it is to admit. I cannot help feeling fond for you, of course, since we’ve known each other basically our entire lives. Sometimes my mind wanders to more… romantic situations.”

Was Damien the luckiest Templar in the world, or was the Gallows filled with mostly gay men? Did even the Maker know the answer to that?

Kallen groaned and stood out of his chair. “I mean to say is that I return your feelings, no matter how wrong they may be. Merely wishing them to leave doesn’t help. It doesn’t do bloody anything. I think it actually makes me want you all the more.” He stepped over to Damien’s bed and peered down at him, “Now how about we go to the Chantry and beg for answers of what to do about this?”

It had been a serious suggestion. Of course it had been.

Damien didn’t want his secret to be found out. “No, we shouldn’t. We can pray here. We can make sense of it _here_ , so nobody else discovers it.”

“It’s not the same trying to meditate in here as it is in the Chantry!” Kallen retorted, “Don’t pretend like it isn’t.”

“I know it’s wrong, but I don’t want everyone _else_ to tell me that as well!” Damien growled. He threw off the last of his armour with a clatter. Only his underclothes remained. “And wouldn’t the Maker already know how we feel? I’ve prayed about this before in the past, and the only conclusion I drew is that I needed to tell you.”

“I… had the same experience.” Kallen admitted. He picked up the pieces of Damien’s armor and put it in the wardrobe. “Look, I’m sorry, but it’s just stressful, you understand? Sweet Maker, it is the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had! Trying to slice all these feelings out, when you only seem to miss the beast and wound yourself instead! I am tired of it. I only want it to be _easier_.”

Damien paused. If it had been wrong wouldn’t the Maker had told them so when they’d prayed in the past? Why had the insight been to simply tell the other their feelings?

“Maybe it can be easier.” Damien said, “Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this constant fight.” He hesitated, and held out his hand. “We can be together however we want, and if the Maker scorns us, so be it.”

Kallen was almost in tears, though he didn’t back down. He reached Damien’s bedside and locked his fingers in his. “You are so strong. I really want what you’re saying to be true, but what if we’re wrong?”

Damien tugged on his roommate’s arm, pulling him closer. “I will repent for my wrongdoings however the Maker deems appropriate, but… right now my feelings don’t feel dirty and shameful.”

Kallen leaned forward and brought a hand to Damien’s forehead. “Neither do mine.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, desiring more than this conflict. They needed to be joined so they could face the Maker’s scorn with new strength.

“You don’t have a fever…” Kallen said slowly, as though confused by it.

Damien pulled Kallen’s arm again, this time so the palm was against his chest. “I will get one if you don’t kiss my festering illness away.”

Kallen smiled. The idea of kissing curing the untreatable desire for another was complete nonsense, but the ideal so glorious one would delude them into believing it. Their struggle was understood as strongly as their affection. The man climbed on top of the bed in full armour, positioning his legs on either side of Damien’s. He leaned forward so their noses touched.

“I love you.” Kallen said.

“I love you more than I love the Maker.’ Damien said, touching the palm of his hand to the side of Kallen’s face.

“What blasphemy,” the man smiled.

“Yes, sadly.” Damien agreed.

Their lips were the first part of their bodies to touch. It was soft, longing and silent. Damien felt his cock twitch already. The very prospect of the fact his suffering might end was exciting. He slid his tongue into his roommate’s mouth.

Kallen made a sound between a gasp and a groan, but quickly returned it.

They kissed his way for a decent while. Kallen held onto Damien’s face, and Damien started to try dislodge Kallen’s armour with his free hands. This was incredibly difficult to do.

“Sorry.” Kallen gasped.

“Don’t worry. It was incredibly presumptuous of me to assume you wanted to take it off.” Damien admitted.

“But I do want it off.” Kallen said in a rush.

“I can wait.” Damien said, equally as fast.

He thought the wait was both heavenly and purgatory at the same time. He stroked at his cock, distracted, not able to wait for his roommate to return.

The wait was worth it. Kallen lowered himself to Damien’s body and they enjoyed kissing for a while longer. Such a simple delight became more powerful with each moment. Their breathing deepened and their heart beats quickened. How far did they want to go with this? They hadn’t exactly planned ahead or thought about how fantasy would translate into reality.

“What… should we… do?” Damien wondered, breathing steadily between words.

“I don’t know.” Kallen admitted. It seemed they were both on the same page. “I know what I _want_ to do, but…”

“Tell me.” Damien muttered, staring up at his lover with a warm gaze. “Please?”

Somewhat pink, Kallen leaned down and whispered in Damien’s ear the contents of his desires.

Damien agreed.

They took off each other’s underclothes and swapped places on the bed. Damien placed his eager mouth over Kallen’s manhood, taking it little by little, training his gag reflex to dissipate. It didn’t make much difference how long this process took. Kallen was making the blissful sounds, running a hand affectionately down the man’s back. He’d barely managed to do anything too intensive when a jet of the man’s cock cream squirted into his mouth.

Damien swallowed, he kissed the inside of the man’s thigh. “I warn you I won’t be much better than that.”

Kallen nodded, still in a daze. He gave his roommate a gentle tug on his shoulder to tell him to move. There was cuddling to do, and then Damien would whisper his own wants in Kallen’s ear. They involved swivelling a tongue around a place messier than a cock.

And Kallen would agree.

_TBC: Story truncated due to length issues. If you'd like to see the rest Inquisitor, you' know where to find me!  - Varric_

* * *

 Evelyn sighed. It wasn’t an annoyed sigh. She was… feeling very nervous. The insinuation of who these characters were was far too obvious, but she’d enjoyed reading it regardless, even if she knew that scenario would never happen. 

But maybe… the Commander would kiss her like that if she asked. Perhaps he might lick her wherever she wanted. She knew from the heat in her knickers that she had enjoyed that tale a little too much. Stupid Varric.

She might be just like those characters, fighting to keep her feelings away.

“I need to tell Cullen how I feel about him.” Evelyn told herself, the paper still in her hand. “I should do it right now.”

She paused and looked at the page. Cullen would be furious if he knew what was in this story. Should she show him anyway?

 _Not right now,_ she decided, _maybe not ever, but still…_

Evelyn exhaled slowly. Apparent mockery of the Inquisition members aside, which story was the superior one? She considered herself a biased party because of Cullen. Perhaps when she'd read the rest of the story she'd be able to think more clearly. 

Hopefully. 

She hid both stories under her pillow and rose to her feet. There was a lot of work to do before the end of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric taken from Katy Perry's song "Rise".


End file.
